


Sound of a Switchblade

by NeoVenus22



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-13
Updated: 2010-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 22:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sam sees the glint of light down by his wrist.  Suddenly everything comes together: they're not going to let her walk.</i>  Off-world, Sam has to fight for the lives of her team and herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sound of a Switchblade

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: 3x02, 'Seth'; 5x21, 'Meridian'. Takes place early season 6.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," says Colonel O'Neill half a klick from the Stargate, but Sam and Jonas exchange a look and say nothing. If the colonel wants more said on the matter, he'll say it himself.

Then the trap goes off, and none of them even have time to swear before the spear slices through Colonel O'Neill's calf, and then they're up in the net.

Sam waits a beat for the smart-ass comment. Irritating though it may sometimes be, and not always useful, frankly, she sort of needs someone to do it. Tradition, and all that. But the colonel doesn't oblige. Sam and Jonas realize at the same time that the spear has gone clean through Colonel O'Neill's leg and he's unconscious.

"He's bleeding," Jonas says. "Head wound."

"He didn't hit his head," she says.

"He might have knocked against my pack."

"Do you keep _rocks_ in your pack?" she demands, pushing away the hysteria in favor of irritation as she struggles to find a better angle to check out. "Sir. Colonel O'Neill? Sir!" She wiggles to reach him, which is a mistake, because her foot slides through the bottom of the net. She can't help it, she squeals a little as she falls, but her thigh is plugging up the hole. Jonas's elbow is in her face and her knee is just grazing the point of the colonel's bloody spear. She is also no longer in a position to assess anyone for damage.

That's when the natives show up.

* * *

On their walk of shame to the village, shackled and tethered, they pass by at least a dozen more traps, hardly visible through the dense foliage. Sam shudders thinking of what else might be lurking invisible. SG-1's captors seem somewhat civil, at least: after they'd stripped the team of obvious weapons, they hoisted the colonel's unconscious body up on a shoddy stretcher.

Jonas has managed, in his finest diplomatic attempt yet, to get through to the leader just enough to earn an explanation. Apparently, theirs is a world once that was ravaged by the Goa'uld and is still suffering aftereffects. No explanations are given for why the Goa'uld haven't returned to finish what they started, but on their trek to the village, Sam spots a field full of what appear to be headstones. As they stumble on their way, Jonas spots pictographs describing a 'great battle' between the forces of two System Lords, but he's not encouraged to explore further. The whole thing has her uneasy.

Sam and Jonas are thrust roughly down a shallow flight of stairs and into a prison cell, and it's only after the metal gate creaks shut that Sam realizes that between entering the building and coming here, Colonel O'Neill is no longer with them. "Wait—" she barks out, but they've already disappeared.

Sam kicks the wall helplessly, still bound by rope, and wishes like hell Teal'c wasn't on Chulak. The colonel had bitched and moaned about keeping up normal operations with a three-man team (then had looked sideways at Sam and said, "Three... person?"). But General Hammond had shrugged it off, said they'd done it before, it was a recon, the MALP hadn't shown them anything. So off they'd gone.

Teal'c would've noticed the trap, she thinks irritably, Teal'c would've gotten a jump on the natives in those seconds after they'd been released from the net.

Of course, they could have done all of that themselves, _have_ done that themselves, _should_ have done that themselves. But it makes her feel a smidgen better to play what if.

"This isn't good, is it?" Jonas says, completely unnecessarily, and it jolts her back. This is bad, but this is _familiar_. Capture, prison, bad quips, a quick assessment, and then somehow, miraculously, escape. She's done this before and she can do this again.

"No kidding," she agrees. "Are you seeing anything that's going to be useful?"

Jonas hobbles in a duck walk she's too tired to laugh at around the limited expanse of their cell. It's windowless, three stone walls and one metal grate, maybe seven by seven. Sam turns her attention to the hallway, stretching out before them with nothing on either side but straight walls. Their room is the period at the end of a stiff exclamation point. There are burning torches on either side of the hallway just beyond the door, with a third positioned a good twenty yards down. Beyond that, there's a thick door that is shrouded enough in shadow Sam can't tell what it's made of. That door opens to the stairs, as she recalls.

"I've got nothing," Jonas reports.

"Me neither," she sighs.

"I am beginning to wonder why jail cells are universally rusty, though."

"To give us the false hope that we'll die of tetanus before we're executed," she says with a thin line of a smile and holds out her bound hands patiently.

It takes awhile before he frees her, less long for her to free him, and wouldn't it just figure that's when someone comes back to check on them. Except they have Colonel O'Neill with them, limping heavily, leg bound, but conscious. He flashes them a grimace. "Hey there, kids. Have you been behaving while I've been away?"

Sam glances at Jonas and fortunately, he understands immediately. There are only two guards. They're going to bumrush the door while the natives are trying to deal with the colonel's sagging form. She hears the count in her mind: _Three, two, one_, and then the door is open and she's frozen mid-leap, staring down the business end of a zat gun. Frankly, she wouldn't be surprised if it turns out to be her own.

"Stay where you are," the man brandishing it says calmly. He, of course, has every right to be calm, he's the one that's armed. Sam sort of hates him, from his ratty black ponytail and uneven stubble right down to his muck-covered boots.

Ponytail and his enormous, neckless assistant (brains and muscle, she rationalizes) usher Colonel O'Neill carefully into the cell and shut the door. He tips slightly and both Sam and Jonas dive to keep him upright. Once Sam has reassured herself of the colonel's solidity and warmth, she's back to glaring at Ponytail. "What do you want from us?"

"All visitors to this planet must undergo the rite of _odarvalis_," he says. She casts a quick look at Jonas for translation, but he only shrugs. Maybe he didn't get to those books of Daniel's yet. "Nokuy will choose the participant at the end of the hour," says Ponytail. And that's it. He and No-Neck leave, the slight whoosh of the shutting door making the torchlight flicker.

"We're in a basement," Colonel O'Neill coughs, stumbling. Sam and Jonas shift their weight to help him at least get comfortable with that leg. He leans against the far wall and looks terrible. Sam doesn't have the heart to tell him he was the only one unconscious for their journey here and they already know everything he's telling them. "I woke up in a medical facility the next floor up. Sparse guard, if you can even call them that, but they've got our gear."

Sam chances a look at his leg in the dim orange glow. The splint looks crude but stable. They've removed the spear and staunched the blood flow. He's pale and shaking a little, though he probably doesn't realize it. She wants to offer him some sort of comfort, but doesn't know how or even if she should. Instead, she asks the group at large, "What are the odds of us getting out of here?"

"I was sort of counting on you for that one, Carter."

She glances to Jonas. "Any idea what _odarvalis_ might be?"

"What?" demands the colonel.

Jonas shakes his head. "Some of the writing I saw was obviously Goa'uld," he says, "but that doesn't have any recognizable root, from what I can tell. Might be a hybrid word, I suppose, or indigenous to these people. Although that would indicate they weren't brought here by the Goa'uld originally, and we don't have any evidence to support that."

So they know nothing, Sam thinks, with a spreading feeling of agitation. She takes one of her discarded bindings and helps secure Colonel O'Neill's splint better, so he's prepared for the long haul. She ghosts her thumb over his temple, where the alien equivalent of liquid skin has been spread over the gash there. It doesn't look particularly promising, but he's holding together at the moment.

"We'll figure something out," she says. It's another of their rituals: someone pipes up with false optimism and more often than not, the colonel says something derisive.

He looks at her through hazy eyes. "It's what we do," he says.

But she's not so sure.

* * *

Nokuy looks as though he could be a Disney prince (knowledge unfortunately gleaned from one of Cassie's more pervasive phases). He's fair-skinned, with blond ringlets and a distinctive shoulders-to-waist ratio. However, that's only at first appearance. When he finally approaches the bars and peers at them narrowly, his eyes are dark and murky, with no semblance of humanity in them. Sam clenches her jaw and stares him down.

"You are the visitors," he says in a dull voice that shows no emotion. "The _kresh'lach_ who have been brought by the Chaapa'ai."

Sam and the colonel both look at Jonas at this one; the word is recognizably Goa'uld. He's frowning. "We did come through the Chaapa'ai, but we're not..." he stops, in case they _are kresh'lach_, whatever that might mean. "We're peaceful explorers," he says instead. We're from a planet called Earth."

"Travel through the Chaapa'ai is forbidden," Nokuy says coldly. "Only the Goa'uld are so bold as to visit here and even they have not visited in many years."

"We were hoping you could tell us your secret," the colonel says.

"Well, you see, we're enemies of the Goa'uld. We're friendly, really." Jonas adopts his most harmless smile and even Sam tries not to visibly bristle about their circumstances.

"You have come by accident," Nokuy ventures.

"Yeah, exactly. So, if you could just let us go?" Jonas says hopefully.

"As are the ways of our planet, the only safe passage off this world is through the rite of _odarvalis_."

"Yeah, the welcoming party mentioned that," Colonel O'Neill bites out through gritted teeth. Sam doesn't know if it's pain or irritation. Knowing the colonel, probably both. "You mind telling us what the odor... valise is?"

"_Odarvalis_," Sam corrects, because this is what they do.

"One of you will battle for your freedom against one of the members of our council," says Nokuy.

"If we win?" says Jonas.

"Then the freedom for all of you shall be bought."

"And if we lose," says Sam, her voice flat as she waits for the shoe to drop.

"Then you will submit another for the rite."

It takes Sam half a second to figure out the subtext. She figures she already knew. "It's a fight to the death."

"If you are as innocent as you say, then you must be willing to die for that innocence."

"I've heard a lot of cracked things over the years, but that is definitely the stupidest," says Colonel O'Neill harshly.

"Is it truly foolish?" says Nokuy.

"Hey, now, I didn't say foolish. I said _stupid_."

Nokuy ignores this. "This rite is older than any of the people of this world. Many have volunteered for the rite of _odarvalis_, even facing the risk of death. We ask nothing less of you."

"No, first you trap us, try to tear our limbs off, then you ask that we pick ourselves off one by one for some whacked death-Olympics," Colonel O'Neill spits, sitting up even though it obviously pains him to do so, flailing an accusing finger.

"Sir," Sam warns.

"We seek only to protect ourselves," Nokuy says with eerie calm. "You say you are enemies of the Goa'uld. Surely as such, you have gone to great measures to do the same."

Sam can't answer to that. Daniel's dead, after all, dead to save thousands. Not to mention Sam's lost Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c more times than she can count, more times than she's comfortable thinking about, and it never gets easier. They've made tentative alliances, they've done things none of them will ever be proud of, but Sam has always been able to tell herself that all the sacrifices they've made have been for a greater good.

Nokuy, sensing their reluctant agreement of this notion, adds, "Should you win, freedom for all of you shall be bought. Of this, you have my word."

"And why should we trust you?" the colonel demands. "In case you hadn't noticed, you kidnapped us and tried to take off my leg."

Nokuy doesn't blink. "Because I am trusting you at your word, and did not have you killed on sight." With that, any sense of warmth their encounter might have had, which were only flickering candle flames at best, are gone. His voice is chilly and businesslike. "The rite will not be ignored. I have chosen. She," he points, although there's obviously only one 'she' there, "shall fight tomorrow at dawn. No weapons are allowed." To the chorus of their protests, Nokuy leaves in something of a flounce.

Though she tries not to, Sam wonders every time she is plucked away from the group, as victim or friend, if she's being chosen simply because she's a woman. This time is no exception, although she doesn't recall the studious and none-too-subtle once-over that usually comes with the selection. Occasionally, she's eyed with wonderment (such a little girl with such big guns!) but more often than that, it's some combination of distaste or lust. Nokuy gave her none of the above.

She knows her teammates, whether they've ever seriously thought about it or not, all worry about the times she's picked over them. She knows they think about protecting her, whether they mean to or not. She knows they'll say to her face, smiling, "It's not as though you need it, Sam." Yet they do it anyway. Simple male genetics or that unusual bond that comes with working together so tightly and so long, she no longer knows or cares. She worries about them just the same and maybe they chalk it up to maternal instinct.

"You don't have to do this," Jonas says. "I'm sure we can work out something that doesn't involve anyone dying."

"You say that like she's gonna lose," says the colonel. He's lying back against the wall again, spent. "Have you ever met Carter?" He smiles at her grimly and she's grateful for the attempt at... whatever. "But Major, Jonas is right," she never thought she'd hear those words coming from his mouth, "you don't have to do this. Frankly, it's stupid. I'm sure I mentioned that to Ikea there."

"Nokuy," says Jonas.

"Whatever."

"I'm not seeing as we have much of a choice," Sam says. "But I can handle it." She appreciates both their efforts, but she's already passed judgment. No way in hell is she letting the colonel do this. And Jonas, for all of his skills, is less of a fighter than Daniel.

If she's being totally honest with herself, she's so pissed off that this happened again that she's looking forward to burning off aggression beyond pacing this cell. Maybe she's been on this team too long.

Once upon a time, when she was young and naïve and the Stargate was nothing more in her eyes than a very cool device to play with, anything on the other side was something of a fairytale, dramatic and exciting and far away. She hadn't expected every mission to be picture-perfect, but she was still surprised at some of the things they'd be forced to do. Not so much anymore. She's hardly that woman. She's seen too much, done not enough, she's killed and died.

This, just like the rest of it, is part of the job.

* * *

Nokuy comes flanked with two new interstellar bouncers, enormous and muscle-y. Neither of them appear tight and contained like Teal'c, but she does believe they could flatten her easily. "Do not try to escape," Nokuy says as he flashes his door keys. "If you do, you will be killed and one of the others will take your place in _odarvalis_."

Sam nods. They let them keep the bindings off, they'd taken care of the colonel's leg, and had brought the team food and water the night before. She's going to take these as gestures of good faith, since she knew Colonel O'Neill wasn't up for a firefight, and neither she nor Jonas would be at the top of their game if they were trying to watch out for him.

"I will tie your wrists for the duration of the walk to the ring," Nokuy says. He lacks emotion utterly and it puts a sick feeling deep in Sam's stomach. She glances at the colonel, who croaks, "Carter," but she turns and does it anyway. They bind her wrists together behind her back and the ropes are about as loose as they were yesterday, so conceivably she could attempt to get free, which she supposes it what the bouncers are there to deter.

"Are you sure we can't negotiate something?" Jonas attempts.

"You have nothing we desire."

"I'm sure we can come up with something—"

"This is not a matter for discussion. The woman will fight in the _odarvalis_. She will either live or die. If she lives, you may go. If she dies, you will fight next. This is our way, and you are strangers who dared disturb our village. We will not negotiate."

Sam and Jonas exchange a look that says plainly, _this sucks_. Weirder still, it's not the worst thing that's ever happened to them.

"Do at least we get to come and watch the rite?" Jonas asks, his voice a thin line.

"It is unnecessary," Nokuy says. "We will know the outcome soon enough."

"You guys are gonna owe me a drink when this is over," she says. Jonas twists his lips upwards slightly. It's a Colonel O'Neill sort of comment, but he's fading fast and can't say it himself. Sam feels another in a series of worrisome stabs; it's only been a few hours, but he's not getting any better. She's worried about that head gash. She's becoming more and more concerned that the leg is infected.

But it's not the time for her to voice these concerns or do anything about them. And so begins the frog-march up the staircase, down the concrete hallway, and out into the bright sunrise. The holding facility is at the edge of the village closest to the woods where they were captured, the battle ring is on the far end. It takes awhile to adjust to the light, but when she does, Sam takes note of everything they pass, scouting for places to hide in case she needs to run. There's not much to be seen. It looks like a ghost town from a western, filled with creaking framework and splintering wood. It looks as though they've made little to no effort towards restoration and she doesn't know what that might mean.

She sees no people until they arrive at the battle ring. There's a small crowd amassed, can't be more than a hundred or so locals, and Sam gets the feeling there hasn't been a rite quite like this in awhile. Apparently, SG-1 were the only people stupid enough to set foot on this planet after the Goa'uld's reign ended.

Her opponent is unsurprisingly large and brash. She doesn't even bother a deep sigh for the overt maleness of him. She knows they're trying to intimidate her. Hell, they're probably trying to get her killed. But they don't know her, don't know how she behaves or how she fights.

Sam steps into the ring, coiled and as ready as she'll ever be. The muscle eyes her, a smile uncurling slowly, assessing her and dismissing her in the same casual gesture. She burns with anger and tries not to let it consume her. Even so, she braces and circles, and believes she is prepared.

Teal'c has taught her strength. Daniel's taught her faith. Jonas has shown her determination, and the colonel, defiance.

They all, in their own way, taught her love and respect. Everyone at the base has shown this in some measure, shown what it means to have something to fight for. Sam's job now is to take these pieces and fit them all together into a weapon.

She was always good at puzzles.

* * *

Sam swallows hard against the rising tide of bile in her throat. She can guarantee she won't be able to find a comfortable position to sleep in, every time she moves, she feels a different bruise blossoming.

But she's standing. She's standing and she's calculating where best to strike blows. He's big, but pressure points are pressure points. So far he's only struck superficial blows. She feels nothing broken, although she worries her ankle is twisted. Everything aches, but nothing screams in pain. She'd managed to trip him earlier, step on his hand hard enough to break some of the tiny bones. It limits his assaults slightly. He's too big to kick, she's too fast to grab. She releases a side kick, digging her booted heel into his flank, and yes, that burning in her standing leg means it's probably sprained. Nothing she can do about that now.

She ducks one of his heavy fists, whales him in the gut, follows it up with an uppercut to his jaw. His jaw is fleshy and soft in comparison to the rest of him, so her hit is a good one. She's beginning to regain some confidence about this.

Then Sam sees the glint of light down by his good wrist. Suddenly everything comes together, and she hates she hadn't figured it out sooner: they're not going to let her walk. Hell, even if she does win, they'll probably end up taking her to a different holding cell, lie and tell Jonas and Colonel O'Neill she didn't make it. Maybe they'll continue this stupid game, or maybe they'll just torture the others for information. Either way, it doesn't bode well.

She has to think fast. Her physical reflexes were never the best (and she's got the scars to prove it), but her mind works faster than almost anyone else's.

Logic says to duck and dodge, to use her knowledge of the weapon as an advantage and get to a point where he can't use it against her. So instead, she jumps in, invades his space, goes straight for the wrist and his forbidden knife.

He sees her lunging and decides this is the opportunity to take her down without drawing attention to his illegal toy; he doesn't realize she's already spotted the weapon and has already anticipated this move. He thrusts to strike and the blade grazes her wrist as she meets him. It draws blood but she ignores it and grabs his hand. She bends it back towards him, until she hears the crack, until she hears the snap, and then until his blade digs into his own flesh, drawing thick red drops of blood that burst and spill down his arm. For half a second, he blinks at her with an expression that is purely stunned, and she revels in this moment and grins at him wildly. She's trying to scare him. She's trying to make herself brave.

She thinks about McKay calling her stupid and reckless, and she wrests the blood-slick weapon from his limp and useless wrist. He doesn't have the dexterity to stab her any longer, but he still has size and brute strength, so he opts for that and throws himself at her in a tackle. She falls to the ground, feels the crunch of a rib or two breaking as he lands his full ugly weight on top of her. He is so damn large he is tenting her with his body, obscuring her from view from the villagers outside of the occasional flailing of her limbs. This works to her advantage: she'd landed with her arm on her stomach, and although she is relatively pinned, she thinks she can still cut him.

She twists her arm and feels her body groan in protest. He is trying to pummel her with meaty fists, but is trapped by the futile angle of his position. Yet he realizes this is the only way he can contain her. Sam cries out in agony, blood and sweat in her eyes, hoping the sound will scare off the part of her brain telling her how much this hurts. The blade slices open cloth, draws a fresh red streak she can't see across the expanse of his gut. She stabs again and again, causing a spiderweb of red lines as she seeks to dig further into one of her punctures. Finally she feels the blade slip ease into the pocket she made in his flesh.

He swears in protest, a word she doesn't know, no doubt the alien term for 'bitch.'

It's not enough, though. It stings, maybe even hurts, but he seems none the worse for wear, and she needs to get him off her and as damaged as possible. Fight to the death, she reminds herself, and turns off the part of her that protests. She's surprised she's still protesting after six years.

Sam knees the bastard, a trick she'd refrained from using thus far, but had thought about at every turn, and as he rolls over, she uses her brief moment of freedom to jab the knife in deep and slice wide and hard. She digs her elbow into the wound, it's a two-fold move. First, it gets him off her at last, second, it provides her with the perfect opportunity to tuck the knife under the flap of her jacket, out of sight.

Then he's on his back and she kneels over him, dust patterned over her clothes and skin. She reaches a hand into the crude incision, rips the tear, grabs hold of something squishy, and yanks.

Her opponent screams, a harsh, gurgling caterwaul, the yell of a man in pain, the yell of a man who blinked and saw death. There's slime all over her hand and she twists her fistful of ick. It would be faster to just slice, merciful even to just make a few choice cuts now that she can see what she's doing, but she doesn't know if the crowd knows about the knife, and wants to keep her possession of it secret. So she keeps her knee in his groin and shoves fists and fingers into his squirming insides until his screams ebb shakily and stop altogether. She hears only the roar in her ears now. She smells the sunlight beating on his open carcass, highlighting her heinous act in a deceptive bright halo.

She tries not to vomit.

Sam rises crookedly and kicks his skull for good measure; they've long since passed the point where dignity or fair play mattered. She seeks out Nokuy in the crowd. His dark gaze is boring into her ragged figure like a laser.

She flicks her hand southward, splattering bits of blood and gore onto the dirt, and says in a steady voice that disturbs her to the core, "I win."

This is the moment of truth, where either Nokuy will honor their agreement, or she'll have to fight for her life again. She doesn't know if she has the energy. She definitely knows she doesn't have the will. She can't do that again. She understands Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c better now than ever before, understands Hammond, understands her father, and wonders sickly if this galaxy is worth all the trouble they go to in order to save it.

But she keeps up the cool façade, and finds that Nokuy is looking at her with a measure of respect. When he finally speaks, it is to say simply, "Yes."

She stares him down, refusing to show him her hope or relief or exhaustion. "I go free," she reminds him of the terms, "and you release my friends."

"Yes," he repeats.

"And I want back the things you took from us."

"I cannot do that," he says, and as he speaks, she realizes he'd never bothered to learn her name before sentencing her to this, and she flares with anger.

"It's non-negotiable."

She realizes she never learned the name of the man she just slaughtered. Is it better not knowing? Like shooting all those Jaffa on who knows how many planets, mowing them down as if they weren't people first. Then again, if she knows his name, that makes it worse, that makes it real. Maybe he has a family, maybe he's another _kresh'lach_ like her, thrown into a situation he had no control over. Maybe Sam was just his ticket out. She'd just cashed in first.

Ponytail, who'd captured them the day before speaks up, exceedingly pompous once all eyes are on him. She doesn't have the patience for his blustering. "You are hardly in a position to negotiate," he sneers.

Sam lifts her chin, broiling with a rage that borders on hatred. Of any of her team, she's not the one that loses control. But she's also the only one here to witness this descent of the Sam they all know, turning into someone else. "I've killed Goa'uld before," she says, a dangerous trump card to say the least, given the uncertain history of this planet and its people. She neglects to add the part where manipulating the ribbon device and extinguishing the life from Seth's eyes left her so shaky she feigned a stomach virus so she could stay in the infirmary and not face her teammates.

Is killing to save others the same as killing to save yourself? Is using a Goa'uld's own weapon on him with the naquadah blood she'd never asked for any better or worse than what she's done today?

The crowd murmurs over her proclamation, as if they can't believe this tiny blonde woman could do such a thing. That got old a long time ago. "We just want to go home," she says. "And I bought us safe passage." She realizes this is a weakness, but it's all she's got.

"I will take you to your companions," Nokuy says from the edge of the ring.

"And to our things." She always was obstinate. Still, it's her mission now, and she wants to leave with what they came with. She'd never hear the end of it from Colonel O'Neill if the residents of some backwater planet walked off with a few P-90s.

He at least considers this. "We shall see."

She feels the handle of the knife shifting against her stomach as they walk. Her jacket is heavy with the blood of a dead man. She hears the procession behind her, Nokuy's guards, and she marks their tracks carefully, poised for attack.

But her passage is clear. Maybe they're afraid of her for the Goa'uld thing, or maybe just because she killed a man, and not nicely, while they watched. She decides to be grateful. The easier this is, the better.

When they arrive at the facility, there's a certain stillness to the air. Trees are casting shadows everywhere, giving the area an eerie atmosphere, and she hears no birds. It's the moment in a horror movie before everything goes to hell, and she knows if she turns around, she'll see a killer in a grotesque mask. Maybe she's getting paranoid, but she senses this is the turning point.

Four enormous arms grab hold of her two little ones and she struggles and yells out of instinct.

"I am sorry to deceive you like this," Nokuy says, not sounding sorry at all, the bastard. Then again, she's yet to hear him put any sort of inflection to his words. "But we cannot allow you to leave."

"The hell?" she demands, but ceases her escape attempts. She's formulating a plan.

"We have not held a rite in several years," he says. "And for even longer than that, no one has been able to defeat Keeg. He is the strongest warrior of this planet. We will need another to take his place, and who better than the one who defeated him? You will be treated well. We will feed and shelter you, and care for your injuries."

"Oh, like you cared for Colonel O'Neill's?" she demands, and thinks, _Who the hell are you people?_

"You will be relieved to know that we will still allow your friends to go free." Nokuy shakes his head, and for the first time, there's a slight lilt to his usual monotone. "I must admit, I did not expect you to do as well as you did. You were the first female to perform in the rite."

Great, so she's apparently some walking social experiment. Still, she's going to give them the bang they're looking for. She feels the weight of the knife, and judging from the pinch through her shirt and against her skin, she knows which end is the blade and which is the handle. She stashes away that information, tenses her arms, then braces her weight against the bodyguards and swings her good leg up to meet her heel to Nokuy's jaw. She could not have aimed better, he reels back and lands on his ass.

The muscle on her right takes an automatic step in Nokuy's direction and his hold loosens slightly. Just enough for Sam to wrench her arm, grab her knife, and swiftly jam it back into his torso. He doubles over and she uses the momentum to strike into the second man. She dispatches him with an elbow to the nose and twists the blade in his gut. Flecks of blood from three sources spatter as she pulls the weapon out. Nokuy is on his feet and she launches at him, pinning his arms behind his back and holding the knife to his throat.

"I killed Keeg," she says. "Did you think I wouldn't try to kill you?" She's heaving with uneasy breath and her voice is little more than a hiss. "Take me to my friends and maybe I'll consider sparing you. Although I don't know why I should."

He shudders in compliance, and she thinks maybe deep down, all people are exactly the same.

* * *

Jonas's intar and Sam's zat are gone. Nokuy makes no claim to knowing about their whereabouts and she decides to let that one go. They left the Earth weapons, probably had no idea what to do with them. Sam clips her P-90 to her vest and while it hurts banging against her ribcage, she's still grateful for it.

"Major?" says Jonas tentatively, as Nokuy unlocks the door to the cell. There's a pregnant pause where they wonder which side of the bars Sam is going to end up on, but Nokuy makes no move to do anything to her. She's armed, after all, and his neck still has a red line from her last attack.

"How is he?" she asks finally, when she allows herself to breathe again.

"Been out cold for hours," Jonas answers. "I don't know if it's the head or the leg. We should get him to Dr. Fraiser."

"Working on that," she says. She looks at Nokuy. "We're taking him to the Chaapa'ai. And you're coming with us."

"Sam," says Jonas.

"Not through. Consider him a bargaining chip. In case any of his friends change their mind about our arrangement."

Jonas stares at her, the clothes stained with so much blood it's hard to tell if any of it is hers. Her hair is plastered to her forehead, matted, covered in dirt and dust and bits of grass. "Is everything okay?"

"I'll tell you when we get home," she says fiercely. "You're going to have to help me get the colonel to the 'gate, I can't run too fast right now."

"Is this a running situation?" He's remarkably calm, and she has to admit she's grateful for it.

"Let's just say we're in a hurry. Come on." She gives Jonas the colonel's P-90, the Beretta already in her holster. She tries not to wince as she bends and helps lift Colonel O'Neill, but he's heavy. She considers threatening Nokuy to do it, but can't figure out if it's a good idea or not. She doesn't want to give him even minute control over the situation, so ultimately she has him stand guard as they shuffle in awkward, painful procession up the stairs and out of the building.

The journey to the Stargate takes twice as long as the one from it and they move steadily but quietly. She's completely taxed. Her attention is spread between the steady burn in her leg as her ankle threatens mutiny, the dead weight of Colonel O'Neill, keeping Nokuy in line, keeping an eye out for any traps Nokuy might not be telling them about, and watching their six for potential angry mobs.

She is surprised when the Stargate looms into view with none of their team sporting any more injuries than they'd left the cell with. She decides this is good cause to be paranoid, and shifts Colonel O'Neill over to Jonas so she can dial out. She can't support the colonel on her own or protect either of them if someone attacks while Jonas is dialing.

Jonas seems to understand that, and with a relief she feels down to her bones, she sees him whipping out his GDO as the wormhole engages.

Then Ponytail, No-Neck, and a few other of their ilk start to appear from the trees. "Go, Jonas, go!" she yells, ducking behind the DHD for cover and reaching for her P-90. She fires dead air and realizes they'd expended the cartridge, probably in a test before deeming it useless. She can't find her spare and a frustrated scream burbles in her.

Jonas starts to bark out her name, but she yells at him again. There's the sound of zat fire that isn't coming from any of them, and she sees Jonas duck and shove the colonel through the event horizon. He rolls through seconds later. Sam fires the Beretta, thankfully still loaded, at the men in the trees. She gets four out of five in damaging but probably not fatal shots. She likes having distance between herself and them, likes not seeing their faces up close as she wounds them. This is what she's used to.

"No!" Nokuy yells. She doesn't know if he's trying to hold her off from going through the 'gate, or trying to stop her from killing his men, or trying to stop his men from killing her. Either way, all of them are in a stalemate, and she finds herself pausing on the top step. The event horizon pulses invitingly in front of her and she can't yet make herself go through. "You can't leave," he says. "What about our champion?"

She remembers the knife, plucks it from her belt, and throws it to the ground. It clatters down each step, drawing his attention. "I found this on your champion," she says. "Even your own people don't believe in the so-called 'honor' of the _odarvalis_. This entire ritual is a lie." She needs to keep him from following her through or catching sight of the lit glyphs on the DHD. She shoots him in the shoulder and is moving before she sees him fall.

The knife gone, the anchor tying her to this godforsaken world, she lunges through the 'gate and lands solidly on the ramp. "Close the iris," she commands.

"Do it," she hears Hammond say, and the iris clatters shut. "Major?" he asks. The colonel's already on a gurney, being taken out of the gateroom.

"Put it on our list," she says, the list of planets it's a good idea to never go back to. "They're hostile." She lays there, looking upside-down at the general while the remainders of the med team crowd around her. Her ankle broke definitely sometime between the DHD and here. It's silly to feel relief, since there's debriefing yet, or worse, but at least this part is over. She closes her eyes.

* * *

Sam gets the impression that she's not alone anymore and she debates whether she should feign sleep. She hadn't heard them coming, just knows they're at her bedside, that probably means it's Teal'c. She opens her eyes. "Hey, Teal'c. Back from Chulak already?"

"My business there is concluded. Are you feeling any better, Major Carter?"

"I'm fine," she says before she can think about it. It's such a stock response, one that everyone always sees right through, but can never call her on. As expected, Teal'c raises an eyebrow very slightly.

"I understand the mission did not go as planned."

"Do they ever?" she cracks, but her heart isn't in it. She wonders if next he's going to request the mission file from Hammond, read through the vague report she wrote that says nothing whatsoever. "Teal'c, can I ask you a question?" He nods consent. "Have you," she struggles, trying to find the words that neither humiliate her nor offend him. "You've done things you're not proud of, right?"

Teal'c does her the honor of contemplating this legitimately, hands tucked behind his back. "I committed a number of transgressions during my time as First Prime of Apophis," he says. "While I performed many of these things in order to prevent worse things from happening, I do regret many of them."

It's not exactly comforting. And yet, it is.

Teal'c, to his utter credit, asks no questions. Instead, he studies her very seriously (though she's hard pressed to think of occasions where he was anything but serious). "I believe, then, you must consider whether the outcome was worth the price of your actions."

Sam closes her eyes. What was the outcome? Survival? Was that enough? She tries not to have an ego about her numerous accomplishments, but the fact of the matter is that this base would not exist as it is today without her help and her last-minute attempts to save it. She's always favored facts and she knows they need her. She'd done this so she could be around the next time they were under threat. But knowing that doesn't make it easier to swallow. She chokes on the memory of blood.

"You are still alive, Major Carter. Of that, many people are grateful."

At this, she opens one eye and peeks out at him. "Even you?" she teases.

He smiles benignly. "Indeed."

She lets her lid flutter closed again. "Thank you, Teal'c." She knows she doesn't have to say for what.

She wonders if he wishes he could've gone, if he thinks he should've been chosen instead of her. They don't know that Nokuy wouldn't have chosen Sam anyway.

"You are a formidable warrior, Major Carter," Teal'c interrupts her train of thought. "O'Neill and Jonas Quinn were very lucky to have you defending them. I myself have thought that on several occasions."

Sam knows that last part is a white lie to make her feel better, because it's not as though he's ever needed her help in saving his ass from opposing forces of the purely physical variety. Still. "Thanks." She sighs, feels it rack her body, it ripples through her and illuminates everything that hurts, like trying to smooth out wrinkles in a shirt, just pushing it along 'til it hits the surface.

"Okay, Teal'c, Sam needs some rest. I know you're quite the chatterbox, but you can save the gossip for later."

If she had the energy, she would've giggled. Sam pictures the scenario unfolding next to her bed, one she's seen before: Janet's hand on Teal'c's arm, the familiar smile, Teal'c's acquiescing head nod as prelude to his departure. Sam can practically feel Janet's shadow as it falls across her lap. "How're you doing, Sam?"

"Okay." She wants to sleep, but not before she asks, "Colonel O'Neill?" Teal'c would've told her, but Janet is the professional, after all.

"In ICU. He'll be fine. I wish we could've gotten to him sooner, but I suppose there's nothing more you could've done about that."

"Worked as fast as I could," she says.

"Not complaining about you. Just about those butchers who seem to think what they did was actual surgery. But. How are you doing? How's that ankle?"

Sam shrugs. "I won't be running any marathons."

"Hmm," Janet says noncommittally. "All right. Listen, is everything else all right? Would you like me to call for Dr. MacKenzie?"

"Just a mission gone wrong, Janet. We've had them before and we'll have them again. I'm fine, I promise." Janet nods, her eyes showing for only half a second that she's a little stung from the rejection. She wouldn't share that with anyone else, Sam knows. Then again, she wouldn't take it personally from anyone else, either. "Although there is a call you could make. Since you refuse to grant me leave just yet, do you think Cassie would mind coming in to visit?"

Janet smiles, relieved. "Sure thing. I'm sure she'd love to watch _Pocahontas_ with you again."

Sam thinks about the movie, is reminded of Nokuy's blond hair and thin waist and her original impressions of him, and has to force herself to not shudder. "Sure thing," she says, lying through her smile. She regrets her plea for company almost instantly. Maybe she's fighting too hard for a quick fix of normalcy. She figures she's just supposed to let it happen, but she wonders if it can.

Janet scrutinizes her, part doctor and part friend. "You sure you're all right, Sam?"

She can interpret the answer however she likes. "I will be."

* * *

Jonas approaches her with an open book balanced in one hand. "Major Carter?" She stares at him until he figures it out and relents, "Sam." The colonel and Teal'c are never going to change; she needs at least one person on the team who'll call her Sam. It makes her feel like an actual human being once in awhile, and not just a brain to pick or a body to command.

"What's up, Jonas?"

"P3R-671 was apparently once governed by the Goa'uld Ares," he explains.

"Ares, Greek god of war," she recites. This isn't normally her area of expertise, but she does retain a few things from public education and Daniel's long lectures.

"Right," he said. "From what I was able to translate, Ares was using that planet as a coliseum."

She feels her stomach twist and knows it has nothing to do with her injuries.

"He kept his human contingent not as slaves, but as gladiators. They were pitted against Jaffa and each other in regular, frequent fights to the death."

"What happened?"

"Uh, from what I understand, Ares overthrew a System Lord and joined their ranks, then became embroiled in a war with Sokar. He hasn't returned to the planet in a century. The descendants have been continuing the rite with anyone who comes through the Stargate. I don't think they realize what it originally signified."

"So _kresh'lach_ means..?"

"This is interesting. I asked Teal'c this, and he said it was a very unfavorable term for the damned, basically. I think it derives from two words, _kresh'taa_, meaning—"

"Jonas," she sighs wearily. She's not in the mood for etymology. Not everyone finds it as fascinating as he does.

"Right. Sorry. But, um, Sam, I did want to say thank you. That mission could've gone..." he trails off uncertainly, and Sam finds she can't have this particular silence right now.

"A lot better?" she says with an easygoing smile that she only partly means.

He meets her gaze and she suddenly remembers how young he was when he first came here, how excitable, and now he looks tired. She remembers how excitable she was, how excitable Daniel was, how... all right, Teal'c and the colonel were never 'excitable.' Still, they're all so much older now and not just in years. A part of her hopes Jonas never finds out the complete details of that planet. She knows he respects her.

"A lot worse," he finishes. "But you stopped it from being that. I don't know what you did, but I know you did it for us. So, thank you."

She just nods in defeat. Nothing she can think of to say seems adequate. Or honest.

Jonas takes her silence in stride. "I'm gonna go now, let you sleep."

"Okay." He makes it all the way to the door before she bursts out, "Actually, Jonas, I did have a question. Did you ever find out what _odarvalis_ means?"

He's shadowed in the doorway and she realizes how dark the base can get at night. He seems surprised that she asked, but she's not at all surprised by the answer he ends up giving. "Point of no return."


End file.
